Rhonda:

Today marks a repost of 5 sonnets I wrote for this gifted young lady.  Talented.  Capricious.  Prone to hope and despair.

I also updated my tag links so that the following will point to most every post relevant to her in one way or another:

https://davidemeron.com/tag/lady-day

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Kanzensakura – once more: Accidental Perfection:

I have tried
to describe to myself
how the experience is:

whether it is like
one of those nights
when I cannot sleep
and sit on my back steps
while silent snow falls,

or a walk
through spicy autumn woods,

or a summer night
when I sit
and listen to the cicadas
and watch the occasional meteor
streak across the sky….

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While penning another sonnet…

…I began to despair.  But not due to the subject matter therein contained.

No.

It was something about the manner in which I must remain at electronic arm’s length from those to whom I have grown electronically close.

Closeness and separation are not only relative in this strange world of ours, but now have become virtualised as well.  How far is one blog entry from another?  How far is a comment from a post?

How far?

Sonnet: Jena

Just wait ’til dost thou see her, as have I;
A luscious and so mischievous a thing;
Not hesitant her mind to speak, or tease;
Enjoying every twist that might it bring.

To know her is, as I, to know her wry
Tempestuousness, enervated so.
And take from thee delight, as doth she please;
But even then, so much doth she bestow.

Endow thee all the more, doth she thereby,
Regarding not thy happiness nor joy;
No good to give, that first did not appease;
In truth, wilt not thou notice, but enjoy.

Enigma wrapped in mystery is she,
Rewarding us this fortune, I, and thee.

  • One more for Jena

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Sonnet XII: Patronage

Hast thou the heart to touch, or even look
Upon such art as this and give its due
An thou profess as fanciful, outgrew,
Though for this canvas rapture overtook;

But are such things professed forever true:
That hath these sculpted works thy nature shook;
And shall thy past refinement be forsook,
Though long thou from thine innocence withdrew?

Rare, priceless, as may not be seen again,
Wilt claim thou of thy prime: the best doth wane;
And of this art, so fast a friend may come,
Though whether ancient made or new, as fast.
Shalt thou most proper frame such art at last,
Or once more to thy patronage succumb?

This sonnet is part of a short sequence; click here to read it all:

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